


Home Again

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [139]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee (TV) RPF, Canadian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF, The Boys (TV 2019) RPF
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: In Citadel, Antony Starr is an AU (alternate universe) character. He tells people he's an IT Risk Management and Computer Security Consultant (his official cover) but really he's a ex-military, sometimes mercenary, computer hacker and master thief hired by collectors and other ruthless people to steal for them: art, jewels, money, information... Citadel knows Antony's true occupation and he would never target the organization or any of its membership. Through Cit, he's met Stephen Amell (played RL) and fallen hard. This is their story.
Relationships: Stephen Amell/Antony Starr
Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [139]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/303195
Kudos: 1





	Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Antony Starr/Stephen Amell storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

It's been a long four days, Neil reluctantly discharging Stephen with the understanding that he's to go home and _rest_ for at least a month. He's also to see Doc for a follow-up and take his pain meds as ordered. Neil's made a statement to the studio and that along with the police report and Christos's mediation has meant they've released him from his contract and are going to recast the part. It's not ideal - certainly not for Stephen - but it means his reputation and career is intact and his people are none the wiser as to what's really happened.

They have Stephen's jet flown up to New York and take it home, Stephen accompanied by Antony, Marcus, Christos and Logan. Logan's been retained for a couple of months, happy to help out where he can and Stephen seems to like him well enough. They haven't talked about what happened to Janko and his men and that's just as well. Joseph's been sent home, some strings pulled and a heart transplant arranged for his son on top of the money he'd been promised.

There's a company limo waiting for them at the airport, the easier to transfer everyone to their respective places. Logan'll be staying at Marcus's house when he's not working but he's volunteered to take first shift so they drop Christos off at his condo before heading to Antony and Stephen's.

At home, they stop and leave Logan at the first floor, Antony having already spoken to building security and arranged for his coming and going.

Finally, it's just the three of them as they arrive at the penthouse, Stephen looking drawn and in pain already from the flight and the few steps he's taken. "You want your pills now?" Antony asks, dropping their bags in the hall.

Stephen looks around, it's been just a few weeks since he was home, but in many ways, it seems like a lifetime. The last few days have been rough. He may be safe now, he may be indulging in all the pain meds he can get his hands on, but he's aching - for the future he thought he had, for the marriage he thought he had, for the love and intimacy he feels he's lost. He's been angry, depressed, terrified and tearful in turn, both seeking Antony's arms and then spurning him when the anger seeps back in. Now, back in the place they made their marital home, Stephen feels it all so much more keenly.

"Fuck yes," Stephen nods. Not only has he been sent home with painkillers, but also Valium - to calm him when it just gets all too much.

"You can put your stuff in the guest room," Antony tells Marcus, getting Stephen's meds from his bag and heading towards the kitchen. "The bed's already made up."

It feels weird being here, like this, but Marcus is mostly moving on auto-pilot at this point. He puts his bag in the guest bedroom which has a TV and a bookshelf, his own bathroom and towels already laid out. Presumably the housekeeper's been in and set things up.

Tired and emotional Stephen doesn't move from his spot, the edge of where the corridor from the front entrance opens up into the main living area. He watches Marcus disappear and Antony head toward the kitchen, but he can't seem to make his feet move, he leans against the wall, his breathing picking up a panicked pace.

"Hey." Antony peers back around the corner, water and pills in hand. "You need help?" He closes the distance between them, offering Stephen the medication. "Do you want the living room or bed?"

"You haven't checked." He backs up half a step. "You haven't checked our bedroom, I can't go in there, I can't go anywhere until you've checked it all..." Stephen's words tumble out of his mouth as his gaze darts around the living space.

Antony nods, not even questioning the rationality of it all. "Marcus?" he calls, waiting until the man appears to tell him, "I need you to stay with Stephen. I need to do a check of the flat."

Marcus starts to say something then stops, switching places with Antony, the pills and water handed over. "He'll be right back," he tells Stephen. "Take these." Handing him the valium first.

Stephen shoves the pills in his mouth and swallows them down with some water. He can hear Antony opening and closing doors, the large closet... and he leans on Marcus to take a step into the main room. "You think I'm freaking out for nothing?" he asks quietly.

There's a reason Antony usually handles their clients. "Yes," Marcus answers bluntly, but then reconsiders. Something he only does because he's trying hard to put himself in Stephen's place. "There's nothing here but I don't blame you for wanting to be sure."

Antony does an exaggerated check of the flat, looking in closets and bathrooms and behind curtains. A firm "clear" called out as he finishes with each room.

"But you've never had to question your trust in him, have you?" It's been a thing since it all happened, he refers to Antony as 'him', has hardly used his husband's given name even to his face, and most certainly hasn't used 'Tony'.

Marcus shakes his head. "No." Handing Stephen the other set of pills.

Stephen nods as if to say 'there you go' and takes the remaining pills.

Antony completes a full perimeter check, ending up back where he started. "There's no one here. We're all good, we're all locked up and Logan's downstairs."

"You're sure?" Stephen can't help himself, even though he knows Antony won't risk telling him anything other than the absolute truth. He sighs and bites his lip. "Okay, okay, then I need to go to bed, I'm so fucking tired." His own beautiful bed, not a hospital bed, where there are lights on all the time, where there is noise, where he can't sleep long enough without someone disturbing him.

"I'll help you get ready," Antony says, picking up their bags.

They make their way down the hall to the large master bedroom, Stephen shuffles in, manages to toe off his sneakers. "I've taken the pills, I'll need to shower later, have my ankles re-dressed." His wrists no longer need to be covered, but the wounds to his ankles were much more significant. "I guess I'll need to eat too." He pulls a face, since the abduction he's lost his appetite and is reluctant to eat, an entirely new situation, and he's already losing weight.

"I can make you something, whatever you want, or order in," Antony says, helping Stephen with his socks and his shirt. Hoping that now they're home Stephen's appetite might start to pick up again.

All the bruises have blossomed now, and Stephen is a canvas of colours, from sickly yellow to darkest blue. "I don't know, I'll decide later." Sitting on the bed he blows out a breath. "I'd like to wear some pj's," he nods at the dresser. Normally he only wears them outside of the bed itself, but he still feels too... vulnerable to be naked for any length of time. He glances up, and his gaze fixes on the pictures he'd had taken of himself, the ones he'd gifted Antony for their wedding. The sight of them brings tears to his eyes. Because he can't ever see how he can kneel for Antony again.

"Sure." Antony doesn't even question it. He's stupidly grateful to just be here, getting to touch his husband even this much. He grabs a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, helping Stephen change into them, his hands gentle but quick. "Want me to leave a light on? Or the door open a crack?"

"Leave the door open yeah? In case I need..." Stephen pauses as he very carefully slips into bed, the high count sheeting delicious against his exposed skin. "...you."

Tears prick Antony's eyes at the words and he wants nothing more than to climb into bed beside his husband. "Of course. I'll be right out here."

Despite his exhaustion, Stephen doesn't fall asleep immediately. He lays there in the near dark, taking in the familiar sounds and smells of the place he's called home for the last eighteen months. In some ways it's comforting, in others... it leaves him questioning his future, his future here with Antony.

Out in the living room, Marcus has taken a seat. The view from the penthouse is incredible and he spends his time looking out the window until Antony returns.

"You hungry?" Antony asks. "I can make you a sandwich. I'll make something more later, when Stephen's up."

"Thanks." Marcus nods, watching Antony move around the kitchen now, pulling food from the fridge and piling two sandwiches sky high. He makes everything look easy, like nothing fazes him, like he's just carrying on, but Marcus has known Antony for far too long to be fooled. And even taking care of Janko and his men hadn't eased the stress and tension evident in every line of his frame.

"You want a beer?" Antony asks, placing the sandwiches on two plates and piling some chips beside each one.

"Sure." Marcus takes a bottle and a plate from Antony as he comes over, setting himself down on the other couch. Marcus stares at him for a minute then overrides his own discomfort, forcing himself to ask, "Do you want to talk?"

Antony gives him a look. It's not no, he doesn't want to. It's no, he can't. Not and hold himself together. He shakes his head and takes a drink of his beer, picking up the remote and turning the TV on low.

Laying there in the dark, Stephen can hear Antony moving around, the low rumble of voices, not distinct enough to make out words, but it's oddly comforting. He has to admit, even having been home for just a short amount of time he feels just a touch more relaxed than he did at the hospital.

Hunger fed, Marcus takes Antony at his word, stretching out on the couch and falling asleep, his snore a soft rumble that Antony doesn't really mind. He washes up the dishes, answers a few work emails and sends Tommy a thank you and a quick update. That done, he puts his head back, starting to fall asleep when he jerks awake, reminding himself that Stephen wants one of them awake at all times.

He'd dozed off, but Stephen wakes when his bladder demands he visit the bathroom. He sighs, each bathroom trip is an uncomfortable affair, in fact any significant movement is an uncomfortable affair, but at least here he in his own space. He leans to switch on the bedside light and carefully pushes the covers back, sliding his legs around so he can perch on the edge of the bed. Taking a moment to make sure his head isn't spinning he pushes up, groaning before heading to the bathroom. The first day or so in the hospital his piss had been an alarming shade of pink, blood from his bruised kidneys had been flushed out and now he's pleased to see his piss... looks like piss.

Antony's moved from the couch, Marcus still softly snoring away. He's making gnocchi now, figuring if they don't eat it tonight, they'll eat it this week. Either way, it freezes well and it gives him something to do, the whole process of making the potato dumplings its own kind of meditation. Boil the potatoes, peel them, put them through the ricer, add the flour, add the egg, knead...

His bathroom trip accomplished, Stephen doesn't head back to bed, instead he makes his way down the hall into the main living space, Marcus is passed out of the sofa, and of Antony there is no sight. Frowning, his heart skipping a beat he looks around. "Antony?" he steps toward the kitchen and pauses when he sees his husband.

"Hey," Antony looks up, turning to wipe his hands on a tea towel. "Did you sleep?"

"A little." And that's all he's managed in days, snatches of sleep here and there, more often than not medication induced. "I need a drink, some coffee I think." Stephen eyes the gnocchi dough. "Can't settle huh?" he asks, looking back to meet Antony's gaze.

"Yeah," Antony admits softly with a shake of his head. "I put some ground beef out. Thought I could do a bolognese."

"I guess we need to talk," Stephen moves to the coffee machine, to give himself something to do while he broaches this most painful of subjects. "But I'm safe now yeah? It's all dealt with, finished."

"Yeah, it is," Antony says, turning to lean against the counter. "And you are. A hundred per cent."

"Well, it's going to take me a while to believe that, or anything to do with..." Stephen waves a hand in the air "...what and why it happened." He pushes a pod into the coffee machine and slides a cup in place. "Now I'm here, it almost feels like it happened to someone else, well apart from..." looking down at his wrists he sighs. "I'm going to have scars, permanent reminders. "

They'll fade and they can get Stephen into the best plastic surgeon in the country to make sure they do, but Antony knows that's not the point and he doesn't say it. It's not just the physical scars. "I'm sorry," he says, the weight of all it like a fucking ton of bricks on his shoulders. As it should be.

Stephen tears up again, the sound of utter misery in Antony's voice is unmistakable. "I know you are." It's the first time he's acknowledged that, hasn't used it to hurt Antony some more. "But that's not enough, it can't fix everything that's broken now... not us, not my life..."

"Then how do we do that?" Antony asks. "Because you're still my husband and I still love you more than life itself and I will do whatever it takes to make us right again. Therapy, whatever."

Stephen looks up at that. _Therapy?_. Antony's words are uncharacteristically emotional. "I have no idea how we do that, I'm still trying to process what happened, I've no idea how we're supposed to move forward. All I know is I'm angry, I'm fucking pissed at you, and at what happened, I'm angry at myself for not fighting back harder, I'm angry that I've lost my anchor, my centre." Blowing out a breath Stephen drops his gaze. "I'm lost and I'm lonely."

"So give me a chance," Antony says. "Let me earn back your trust. I know it's not going to happen overnight and I know you're hurting and angry but we can find our way back. I know we can."

"You always did have faith in us," Stephen offers a wry smile.

"Because we're meant to be together," Antony says. Of that, he's never been more certain in his life.

"Yeah we were, but I'm not sure we can come back from this Antony, this is... it's huge. I've lost more than just my trust in you. I've lost my husband, my best friend, I lost my Sir and Master," Stephen's voice breaks at that. "All the things I had wanted, all the things I never thought I'd have, and for a while there, we were perfect."

"And now you're four days out of the most horrible thing that's ever happened to you," Antony points out, fighting the growing desperation he's feeling. "You're still on medication, you're not sleeping, you're not eating. This isn't the time to be making any huge life-altering decisions."

"I'm not making any decisions, all I'm saying is that I have no idea where we are," Stephen waves a hand between them. "And I don't know how to move forward. What I do know is I cannot just try and pick up from where we were, because that won't work."

"I know, and I don't expect us to," Antony says. "I know it'll take time and I don't have any answers either, but I need you to let me try and make things right. Show you I'm not running off anymore, that I'm making things legit, that you're safe with me. I don't expect you to kneel for me, I don't expect sex, I'm not going to be putting any demands on you. But I do want to touch you. I want to be able to hold you or hug you or give you a kiss when I come home. And I'm willing to wait for those things too if you're not ready because this is early and I know that."

Hearing all this from Antony is a huge relief, Stephen thought he'd have to push his husband away, to demand the time and space he knows he's going to need to come back from this. "Thank you," he offers, "for understanding." He holds out his hand. "I think I'd like a hug right now."

Antony takes Stephen's hand and moves in close, wrapping his arm around his husband and breathing him in. Fuck. Contact with Stephen's been so up and down that every time he gets to touch him he can't shake the horrible feeling it'll be the last.

"Gently!" Stephen cautions as he leans into the embrace. "I'll let you try, okay? That's all I can promise right now. Though I'm not sure how that might manifest," he admits. "But you can try, and I'll be honest with you."

Antony nods, not even daring to say anything for a moment. But finally he gets out a "thank you," lifting his head to give Stephen a smile.

"How about you cook off some of that gnocchi? I'll try and eat, and I'm sure Marcus won't complain about home-cooked food," Stephen pulls back a little. "I need to sit down, okay? "

Antony nods. "Go ahead. And he can stop pretending he's sleeping," he says over his shoulder, that soft rumble having quieted a while ago.

"I was trying to give you some privacy," Marcus protests, sitting up.

"I know. We appreciate it." Antony gives Stephen another smile, this one less tentative, more his usual self. He lets his husband go and moves back to the counter, getting the gnocchi rolled out and cut up and starting in on the sauce.

With his coffee cup in hand Stephen shuffles over to the couch, he sets his cup down before carefully lowering himself into his usual spot. "Fuck," he complains, "I can't seem to get comfortable, sitting, laying down, standing, it all fucking hurts," he grumbles to Marcus. "When do ribs stop hurting like this?"

"The first ten days are the worst," Marcus says, taking the question at face value. "After that they're merely painful all the time for another two weeks. Around a month they're uncomfortable but not as painful and by six weeks, two months, you're feeling better."

Stephen stares at Marcus for a moment before replying. "Well aren't you a ray of fucking sunshine," his tone dry and vaguely amused. He goes to lean forward to pick up his drink, and pulls up short. "Do you mind?" he glances back at Marcus.

"No." Marcus picks up the coffee and hands it over. "It's better if you keep moving," he goes on, despite the chuckle from the kitchen. "Even if it's painful, if you can keep walking and moving around and breathing as normally as you can, it's better. You'll heal better."

"Ugh," Stephen pulls a face, "So no lying around getting waited on hand and foot then?" He somehow manages to keep a straight face as he gazes at Marcus over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Not with me," Marcus says bluntly before he realizes Stephen is teasing him. "I'll walk with you though," he offers, giving in to a rare smile.

Antony putters around the kitchen, making the sauce and a simple green salad to go with the meal. He slices a baguette in half and slathers butter and garlic on it, setting it aside on a baking sheet, the oven preheating as he works.

"Thank you," Stephen returns the smile, before he grows more serious. "I do need you around. I'm struggling with how I'm feeling about Antony. Sometimes I feel so angry at him and I feel I need someone to fall back on, to feel safe until I can work through this. And I have to work through this if we stand any chance of fixing us." Sighing, he looks away. "I know this probably makes you uncomfortable, and I'm sorry about that, but I need to be selfish right now."

"It does makes me uncomfortable," Marcus agrees, "but Antony already told me I'm to put you first so I'm good with staying here until you feel safe again. Besides, I meant what I said at your wedding. I owe him which means I'll do whatever it takes to help both of you."

"You're a good friend Marcus," Stephen offers. "To both of us, it means a lot."

"Just make sure you let me know if I step wrong," Marcus says, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen. "Antony usually handles our clients because I don't always say the right thing."

Stephen huffs out an amused noise at that. "You have your own special charm," he teases gently. "And I know you mean well because I know your loyalty, we're good."

The sauce simmering, Antony sets the table and pours water for everyone. He put the garlic bread in the oven and checks the seasoning on the sauce before finally adding the gnocchi to the boiling water. "Dinner in five," he calls out.

A quick look in the direction of the kitchen and Stephen is shaking his head a little. "It's odd, having him doing things I normally do, we've never spent any real time without some level of power play..." his words tail off as it hits him anew; that he and Antony may never recover what they had. May never share power exchange again.

"I can understand how that would be weird," Marcus says, although he still really doesn't get the whole thing. Technically, yes, but _get_ , not even close. "But maybe it's a chance to start over. Make sure you still feel the same way about what you want from your relationship."

"That's a way off yet." Stephen looks down into his mug of coffee as if it might hold the answer. He's not even sure they can save their marriage, let alone re-engage in a power dynamic, but he doesn't share these thoughts with Marcus. "We should go sit at the table," he suggests instead, carefully pushing up out of his seat. "I promised to try and eat something."

"I think we're all pretty sick of hospital food," Marcus says, falling in beside Stephen and matching his pace for the few steps to the table.

The gnocchi drained, it gets tossed with the sauce, the salad gets a last drizzle of olive oil and the garlic bread gets cut into slices and put in a basket, everything brought to the table along with freshly grated parmesan cheese.

Stephen takes his usual seat, beside Antony, and before he can stop himself he reaches to start serving his Sir first. _Fuck!_ The movement is stalled and he sits back, his hands set in his lap. "Thank you," he offers, in an effort to distract from his odd behaviour, "this looks great."

"Thanks," Antony nods. He picks up where Stephen left off, serving all three of them, Marcus as their guest first, then Stephen and finally himself, the garlic bread, salad and cheese passed around. Pretending he didn't notice anything. Things made more awkward for him with Marcus here, anything he might say to Stephen heavily censored. "There's wine in the sauce, but it cooks off," he points out, mindful of Stephen's medication.

Almost certain he won't manage even half of what has been put in front of him, Stephen picks up his silverware and starts in on the food, he eats slowly, his face still bruised from the various punches he'd received, and he tries a little of everything before he sets his cutlery aside and picks up his water.

"Mm. This is so good," Marcus says, going back for seconds already. "You could be a chef as your second career," he tells Antony.

"Thanks but no, thanks." Antony shakes his head. "It's a hobby. I'd probably stop cooking altogether if I _had_ to do it." He smiles at them both, happy to see Stephen at least eat something.

Stephen manages a smile at that, but he's done eating. He nudges his plate away, something almost unheard of until a week ago, he's even lost his craving for sweet carbs, finding the thought of a pastry or doughnut mildly nauseating. "That's all I can manage," he offers quietly, before realising he really doesn't need to justify himself to Antony anymore.

"That's fine," Antony says. He'd hoped that maybe Stephen would be more interested in food at home but he's not exactly surprised his appetite hasn't returned yet. "Just let me know if you get a craving for anything. I'm more than happy to make it."

Stephen nods, smothering a yawn. "Do you mind if I go back to bed?" He finds he's exhausted again, and he just wants to be on his own, seemingly done in by this small amount of interaction.

"Not at all." Antony gets to his feet. "I'm going to take a plate down to Logan and then clean up when Marcus is done." He stares at Stephen for a moment, hands on the back of his chair. "Can I talk to you for a minute in the bedroom?"

It's certainly odd to hear Antony talk to him like this, to ask, to request, to defer. Odd and uncomfortable. Stephen nods, "Yes, of course," He pushes up from the table and follows Antony through the living room down to their bedroom suite, lowering himself down to the bed, he looks up expectantly at his husband, and he has to acknowledge he's feeling nervous, his belly fluttering, worried about what Antony might say, or ask of him. Anxiety in his relationship is new to Stephen, and he doesn't know how to process it.

"I'm exhausted," Antony says, having barely caught a night sleep's over the four days they'd spent in the clinic and almost nothing on the way home. "When I've cleaned up, I want to come to bed. I'll stay on my side, wear pajamas, but I really need a night in an actual bed and I didn't want to show up without saying something to you."

Stephen drops his gaze, then he dips his chin, his fingers closing around the bedlinen under his hands. He nods, silent for a moment before he draws in a shaky breath. "Yes, yes, of course, it's your home." And it hurts, it hurts that Antony has to ask to sleep in his own bed, that there is such a huge chasm between them.

 _Thank god._ Antony has to take a second before he says anything more. "Thanks." He leans in, down, daring to drop a kiss on top of Stephen's head. "I love you. Get some rest."

Stephen nods again, not willing to trust his voice. He doesn't move, his head still bowed, as Antony leaves the room, only then does he begin to cry. Tears spill down his face, and he tries to smother his sobs with his hand. Tired, broken and in pain Stephen has never felt so miserable in his life.

Antony takes a plate down to Logan and comes right back up, making quick work of the mess he'd left in the kitchen. He doesn't give a shit that he's going to be wearing pajamas or confined to his fucking side of the bed, the mere thought of getting to sleep beside his husband tonight is enough to have him racing to be done. "You okay? You need anything?" he asks Marcus.

"I'm good," Marcus assures him, not even trying to make sense of whatever's going on between his oldest friend and his newest. "I'm going to watch TV and eat the pastries I found in your fridge," he says, remote in one hand and a plate of cannoli in the other.

Antony chuckles. "You do that. I'll see you in the morning. You can crash when I'm up." He leaves the lights on and double-checks that the front door's locked before heading down the hall and into their bedroom, the door closed softly behind him.

As exhausted as he is, more so after his crying jag, Stephen is not asleep, he'd washed his face, used the toilet and then settled in bed, leaning back against a pillow pile designed to make him as comfortable as possible, he'd dimmed the bedside light down to low and turned his face to the large windows, watching the lights from the city beyond. When Antony enters the room he doesn't acknowledge him.

Antony's surprised to find Stephen still awake. "Hey. Can I get you anything?" he asks, pajama bottoms and a tee in hand.

"No thank you." There's little to no inflection in Stephen's voice, it's oddly flat.

Antony nods, wishing he knew what to say or do, all of his knowledge really only applying to those in his world, soldiers, mercenaries, men he's not in fucking love with. "I'll be right back," he says, setting the clothes on the end of the bed and disappearing into the bathroom to quickly wash up and brush his teeth. Cleaned up, he tosses his clothes in the hamper and pulls the pajama bottoms on, the tee over his head. Climbs into the bed on his side.

"I want you to hold me, and promise me everything will be all right, that it was just a nightmare," Stephen says quietly, his voice still flat. "But I'm so scared to let you touch me, that if I do, I'll convince you that I'm forgiving you for something I'm not ready to forgive you for. Denying you that intimacy is a punishment because I want to punish you for this, I want to hurt you."

"I know you do, and you are," Antony assures him. "But letting me hold you or touch you isn't going to make me think you're forgiving me and it's sure as hell not going to have me forgiving myself."

It's a good enough answer that Stephen carefully turns toward Antony, he searches his husband's face for a moment before speaking. "Then hold me, and talk to me."

Antony tears up. He can't help himself. He shifts onto Stephen's pillow pile and gently wraps his arm around his husband. "You're safe now," he says. "No one will _ever_ try and hurt you again. I've made sure of that."

Antony's tears are painful to see, because despite how he's feeling, he does still love this man, deeply. "You must have been scared," he whispers, finally inviting Antony to talk about his side of this horrific week.

"I was terrified," Antony confesses, pressing closer. "When the first text came through? The one with the picture confirming you'd been taken? Marcus made me pull over and get out of the car. He wouldn't let me see it while I was driving." He blows out a breath, remembering. "It felt like my heart stopped, like everything around me just froze. I was looking at that picture and thinking if something happened to you, that was it, my life was ended."

Stephen considers that for a moment, this close he can smell Antony, his husband's unique male scent, one that normally arouses him. He finds some comfort in it. "He cut my face on purpose, for that picture, clearly I didn't look like enough of a fucking mess," Stephen recalls. "I didn't let him see my pain, I just told him he'd pay for it."

Antony nods. "I know it maybe doesn't feel like it, but you were so strong," he says. "And I had faith in that. I knew you'd hold on and I could get you home safely."

"That happened early on, I don't think I had quite understood what was happening. Not until later... not until Joseph had to intervene. After that, it was so much harder, I was in so much pain, and I began to think I might not get out of there, even if you did come for me." Stephen sighs. "It's the most isolating thing I have ever experienced, I was utterly alone in there, powerless..."

Antony nods again. "I know what it's like," he says softly. "But I was a soldier when I was taken captive, that part was different, and I don't want to make any part of this about me. I'm just - I'm so fucking sorry. You shouldn't have been there, in that position, not ever, and I know it's not just the physical. It's the mental and the powerlessness and the paralyzing fear..."

Stephen nods, not able to speak for a moment, his fingers closing on Antony's skin as he seeks some hold, to stop himself slipping into a panic, into reliving those moments. His breath hitches and stutters for a moment.

"It's okay. I've got you. You're safe now," Antony tells him, tightening his hold on Stephen as much as he dares.

"I want it to be how it was before, I was so happy, everything was perfect..." Stephen's voice cracks. "This is so unfair, what did I do to deserve this?"

"You didn't do anything," Antony says, even though he knows Stephen knows that. Deep down. A kiss pressed to Stephen's temple. "And you're right, it is unfair, but we can get back there. It'll take time but I know we can. Or at least to somewhere where you're happy again."

And despite his misgivings, despite everything he's said, despite his ambivalence toward what Antony is, Stephen lifts his face and seeks a kiss. His lips brush against the corner of Antony's mouth, his tongue flicking out to taste, to try and ground himself in the familiar.

Antony makes a soft sound, Stephen's touch rocking him to his core. He brushes his lips across Stephen's, kissing him softly then more firmly. "I love you," he whispers, hand stroking over his hip.

"I still need you," Stephen whispers back. "And part of me hates that, that I'm so needy for you." Even as he speaks he nuzzles for more.

"I know, but you're not alone," Antony promises, licking into Stephen's mouth, his hand sliding under Stephen's t-shirt, resting against his bare skin. "I need you too." Kissing him again and again. "So much."

"Do you?" Stephen pulls away a little to meet Antony's gaze. "I know you love me, but do you need me?" He's always seen Antony as entirely self-sufficient, able to deal with pretty much anything thrown at him.

"Yeah," Antony nods, staring into Stephen's eyes. "I do. You make me see there's a life beyond my past, all the things I've done." He clears his throat, tearing up again. "You make me want to be a better man, the man you think I am. You make me laugh and smile and you... you don't let me take myself too seriously, and I _need_ all of that. You have no idea how much."

"So be that man. Leave all that behind you now. Because if you don't, I can't be with you Antony, not knowing what I know now, not having been through that... be that better man," Stephen replies, Antony had made that promise days ago, but Stephen had not been able to even consider it then.

"I will. From now on," Antony swears, not a single doubt in his mind that Stephen - and their life together - is worth it.

"Properly this time, no more jobs, no more secrecy. I know you got a kick from it, but that has to stop. I have to know the police aren't going to come knocking, or that you may not come home to me one time. You stay here, you work from your offices, you find new ways to feed that part of you... but I won't be married to a man who does those things." Stephen's voice is firm, insistent.

Antony nods. "We have a couple of things we're in the middle of and they have to be finished, but I won't be involved directly. I'll hand them over, make sure they get taken care of quickly as possible, and then I'm done. For good. I swear."

"And Marcus? Will he stay with you if you do that?" Stephen likes the odd man, but wonders if his oddness is an outward display of a deeper psychological state, one that makes so much more sense now he has that much more information about what he and Antony do.

"I don't know," Antony says, shaking his head. He blows out a breath, thinking it through. "I'd like to think so. I mean, he doesn't need the money anymore than I do, but I can't see him wanting to do regular security or just fucking around with computers."

"We'll figure something out," Stephen sighs and turns his face into Antony's shoulder to smother a yawn. "I don't want you to lose him."

 _Better him than you_ , Antony thinks. "He'll understand," he says instead, with a small smile. "Either way."

"I need sleep," Stephen shifts a little, his cheek against Antony's chest. "Don't leave yeah? I don't want to wake up alone."

"I won't," Antony promises, exhaustion and relief washing over him. "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
